The Visitor
by AliceInBloom
Summary: Honestly? If she had to choose - she'd choose the electronics she had in the modern day. Not this candelabra and torch crud.
1. That Dark Monkey!

**A/N:** Hello there! I've tried to do a few other fics for Phantom, but I could never go through with any. Yet this idea, while overused, was something I could definitely do without much trouble. I hope people like this! And yes, before you ask, the main cast will show up in the next chapter.

xxx

You know what really makes me uncomfortable? My grandfather owns this very awful looking little monkey. He wears Persian robes, has the smile of a demented gremlin, and holds little symbols. They bang silently as some little tune plays when you wind it up.

I've asked my grandfather why he owned it but he would never tell me. Well... Not the real reason. All he ever says is that it's a family heirloom, that when it becomes time, I will have it in my possession...

I think I'll just sell it when I get it. It's an antique and someone is bound to put it in a museum or in their own personal collection. I don't tell this to my Grandfather but I think he knows I don't like the little creature.

But anyways, my name is Angel. Well... Angela, but I like Angel better. And as cliche as it may sound, my grandfather insisted I'd be named something that was close to being holy. He's a Christine, you see, but he isn't one to toss it down your throat unless you've done something stupid.

Anyway, the reason why I'm telling you about all of this is because recently, weird things have been happening when I get near that monkey. Sometimes it'll start playing out of nowhere and other times it'll look like its turned it's head in the direction I've walked or where my grandfather has walked.

I told my Grandfather about this but he just smiles, pats it's head, and tells me that I should enjoy the fact that the little monkey is giving us attention. It means that there is a special presence among them! What that could mean, I'll never know. I just know I want it to stop.

But one day, while I swept through the hallway where it stayed seated in it's special little spot, I had been singing. Now, I'm not the best singer. I think I sound like a dying bird. My voice cracks in certain spots in any song I sing. Grandfather says I should take lessons, I tell him to shush because I'm more in tune with drawing or painting than I am with singing. Besides, who would ever listen to me? The voice doesn't match the body!

Where was I going with this? Oh! Right! Back to the monkey! As I kept singing, I stopped, particularly frustrated with a note I couldn't reach, and found myself glaring over at that monkey. It looked amused in its cynical way (as always), but something felt off. There was a new energy in the air. It crackled in an unfamiliar way.

"You like that, Monkey?," I huffed. "I can never reach that note. I always sing this song but I can't reach that stupid freakin' note." I leaned against the broom, taking a deep breath. "Should I try it again? I think I can do it... I just... need to turn around. Your eyes are freaky."

And doing just that, I set the broom to lean up against the Monkey's perch, took a deep breath, cleared my throat-

I _lost _myself.

I lost all sense of surroundings as I found myself _soaring _to a new height in my untrained voice.

Yet once again, as I sang, the room began to crackle with that energy I told you about. That energy that always seemed to perk up when either Grandfather or myself sang near or around that damn monkey. Seeing a flash of light behind me, a loud bang of symbols and a familiar musical tune following it, I found myself turning around, note stuck in my throat as my breath seemed to leave me. Had I sung so horribly that that damn monkey had exploded? Yet by the time I was able to see anything, my eyes stung from the brightness that ate away at my vision.

Rubbing at my eyes, I cursed softly to myself while trying to figure out what had just happened. Yet all thought seemed to go blank when my vision returned. In place of that horrible monkey laid a grand sight to behold. Rows upon rows of seats hit my vision along with an unholy amount of red, gold, and black lined walls. Eyes wide, I tried to take everything in. That turned difficult as I managed to find myself in a panic attack. Had I knocked myself out or was I having a euphoric vision of what could be? Was I still singing without realizing i-

That thought seems to drain the moment I feel a hand turn me around. A man with unkempt hair was talking in French, motioning around like he'd seen a ghost. He points from the spot, seeming to ask me a question over and over.

Not hearing him at some point, I found my vision becoming dark-

Where the heck was I?

When I came back from my sudden fainting spell, I was in a rather small, rather lumpy bed. A lingering thought of how long was I out passes through before I find myself staring at a man who paced, muttering nervously as he wrung his hands. I could barely make out any distinguishable feature from the faint light of a few candles on a tiny candelabra that sat on the equally as small bed side table.

"Hi?," I croaked out. "Hey, where am I? Did I faint?"

Startled, he jumps like a jack rabbit, hands going to the side as his one leg shoots up close to his body. Eyes wide he gapes, then begins to speak. I get a few words here or there but that's because I've read enough stories and even comics with 'French' people in them to know what they meant. Trying to hide the fact that his rambling was getting on my nerves, I hold up a hand. This seems to quiet him long enough while I sit myself up on the side of the bed.

I ask, voice hoarse, "Do you know English? Can you tell me where I am? Did you see how I got here?"

"Opera," he says in a thick accent. "'ouse. You... show up," here he seems to struggle with what he was trying to say, "like ghost! Poof!" And he gives a wave of his hands for emphasis.

Now cue myself being surprised - mostly for the fact that he'd seen how I'd gotten into that Opera... whatever. Yet why should I be? This was the man who'd come up to me frantically pointing at my feet while yelling at me in French!

"Well heck..." I rub at my face as I try to understand what he meant by that. Had he heard that crack, seen that bright light? Or had I shown up as he had said? Faded into sight like a ghost does when it wants to be seen? Grumbling to myself, I wish for whatever was happening to stop. I did not need this. I needed to be home with my grandfather. I forgot to mention earlier but I take care of him. He just needs help with small things, like taking his pills or cooking food. Plus I owed him since he had been the one to help raise me. I mean... I just- He was going to need his medication soon!

Yet how was I going to do that? I obviously not in a place where I _could _get home. I was in some dank little room with a fairly disheveled looking man who was staring at me like I was something _extraordinary_. Sighing, I bite the inside of my cheek. I felt like I'd gone insane. I was literally thinking that the oddly dressed man that - now - sat on a stool besides the bed, staring at me intently, was from a different time altogether.

Especially since there was a butt ton of obvious in my face. The candles, the lack of jacks in the wall, the way the man dressed and the fact that this bed I was sitting on was made of a hand made metal bed frame? Well, it couldn't be coincidence, right? Rubbing once again at my face, I turn to the man.

"I'm going to sound crazy," I whir my index near my head to show him what I was saying, "but what year is it?"

When he gives me an odd look, I repeat myself slowly, "Year?"

This seems to perk him up, "C'est 1881!"

And my reaction? Think holy shiitake mushrooms, I am _screwed_.


	2. Settling In (sort of)

A/N: Yay! Some of you like it! That's all I need to keep going on with this fic!

xxx

My current situation was very odd. I was an American woman, with short hair (not a normal occurence here), and I was wearing clothing that did not belong in the time period I had been tossed back into. In fact, I was forced for the time being to wear a pair of Alfred - that was the man's name that had brought me to his room if I hadn't mentioned it before - very loose pants and too big shirt. He told me I could borrow them until I got myself money after working at the Opera Populair.

Ah- yes, yes, I know it sounds ridiculous. All of this sounds ridiculous, but after hours of thinking and mulling the idea over I think that that stupid music box had had some type of magic on it. Unless you know, I was currently in a coma from hitting that impossibly high note I'd hit the a few nights before (which was probably not possible since I could feel, touch, taste, and smell everything around me).

But at the moment I couldn't think about that. Right now, I was attempting to figure out what my new boss was trying to tell me. He wanted me to do something but seeing as how I wasn't fluent in any French... It just came out as something akin to nicely worded gibberish. At some point Alfred came rushing up to shield me away from the bigger man. He seemed to explain why I was slow to him. I faintly heard 'American' in his little speech. With a clap to the back, I as led to what I had to do.

Alfred quickly showed me what I needed to do - several times in fact - before leaving me to my own devices.

Yes, that's right! If you'd been curious to why I'm speaking about working it's because after the few days of settling into my new home with my new room mate, he decided I should get a job. Which I did and when I'd shown my skill to the main man in charge of back drops and everything else on the stage, he told me I was hired. I was to help paint the backdrops and to help put them together what they needed. So that was what I was doing now - hammering a few planks of wood together for the next show this big old Opera house was going to put on. Unfortunately I couldn't hardly read the playbill they passed around so I didn't know which one was going to go on in the coming month.

Grumbling to myself as I finished what I was doing, I found myself humming out a rather familiar tune but I did my best to keep it low. I didn't dare sing any louder seeing as how I sounded like a dying bird. Plus my cover would be blown. I had to keep my voice on a low tone just to trick these people into thinking I was a man.

That's another thing! Being a man is much safer in these times. When you're a woman, you couldn't do much. As a man? It seemed I had the free range to more things - like physical labor. It was what I was used to and I didn't think I'd be very good at sewing costumes or applying make up. Not that I couldn't learn! But I er, I kind of refused to. I didn't want to get trapped into that.

By the end of the day, I found myself sitting outside with Alfred eating a small, watery portion of a beef stew and stale bread that could only be edible if drowned in the stew. Frowning, but consuming it anyway, I found I already missed my ability to cook what I wanted. I missed the stove. I also missed my shower, shampoos, and lazy clothes. Especially since I'd taken all of it for granted up until now.

"An' he say," Alfred suddenly begins, leaning over, dunking his piece of bread into the soup. "'E say zat you," and he shoves it into his mouth. "Not... terrible. _Boison_... eh, _work_."

"Really?" I shoved my portion into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "That works. I'll do my best, Alfred." Grinning at him, I leaned against the stairs as I found myself becoming distracted by the sky. The candles outside didn't have much power so I could still see the stars. It was wonderful.

"Ang'eh," Alfred started up again. "'Ave question for you."

"Hm?"

_"Où étiez-vous_... born?"

"Born?," I mumbled, confused to the other first half of the question. I'd understood 'born' but other than that? Completely lost. However I kind of went along with 'born' as I spoke, "In a place called New Jersey. Not very good but... where I lived was nice." I settle my soup and bread to the side. I begin motioning with my hands; as if painting as I spoke, "It had trees surrounding it, a lake with fish. And a swing. I'd be outside all of the time with my grandfather when the weather was nice."

Soon the conversation dissipated as I felt the shock of sadness hit me. I'd only been gone a few days but I missed being home dearly. I missed my Grandfather. I missed my paints and my sketch books. I missed the stupid evil little monkey that had brought me here. I missed the way my overly bare house would shine with sunlight in the afternoon and become dark as it became night. I just missed home. I missed my time.

Excusing myself, I quickly walked away to try and get my bearings. I found myself in the park after awhile. Sitting there, I quickly leaned back, letting out a puff. I'd been crying. I knew I had been because by the time I sat, I felt red and puffy. Wiping at my eyes, I tried to calm myself.

It wasn't until I came back that I noticed people were buzzing around like bees to fresh water after a hard days work. Apparently an 'accident' had happened in the short time I was away. I kept hearing a few of the ballet rats whispering of a 'fantôme.' A phantom? Really?

Wait- _really?_

Now that gave me a clue as to why the year seemed _familiar _to hear about.

I scratched at my chin as I zipped my way away of the buzz of paranoid people. Soon I found myself heading back towards the dressing rooms of the rats - yet it wasn't _their _dressing room I was trying to get to. No, in fact it was a room with all of the discarded props and clothing. I'd found the room when getting lost to going back to the one I shared with Alfred.

I was only going there because I'd figured that after awhile I might be able to take one of the simpler costumes from the mens section and wear it around instead of the baggy mess Alfred had given me. Pulling out a box of matches that I'd been given by another stagehand, I lit up a few of the candles so I could look around.

At first it was fantastic being able to see all of the costumes. All of the fabrics were well worn, well used, and kept in fairly decent condition after so many uses. Yet even with that excitement, I began to find myself becoming bored. I found myself beginning to sing a song I'd heard in a children's movie, along with the dance I could remember from it. When I began to get towards the end, I was watching myself in a large mirror I'd uncovered in the back of the room. I was grinning like a moron as I got towards the end, moving with the tune.

As I got to the end, I help my hands out to the side, palms down as I met my finish, "- that's how we are, La Siene and I!"

Suddenly a phantom - ha! - clapping began to come from around the room. Expression turning from happy to absolute confusion in a split second, I looked around for the source. Oh god, please don't tell me someone saw that!

"Bravi," came the gentle response to my meep. "Bravi, bravismi."

Eyes wide, I purse my lips as I look around for the voice. Who was doing that? Who was in the room? Were they over the- no. There! Nope.

"Wow," I scratched at my cheek. "Way to be creepy. I mean, impressive, but very creepy, unnamed voice."

The voice seemed to be offended, "Creepy, madame?"

"Er- " That's when I realized the voice was speaking in English to me. Eyes wide, I gaped liked a fish. "You're speaking English! How are you speaking English? No one here speaks it!"

"Of course I am speaking English, I am... a _ghost_. I know _many _languages," huffed the voice, golden tone just a tad on the annoyed side now. "You are an American."

"Thank you Captain Obvious," I snorted, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. Where could it be? It seemed to be over my shoulder, then above me... This guy was a ventriloquist or something! "Now where are you? I've been completely alone with nothing but French. I'd like to see a person behind the voice that can speak to me!"

There's a scoff, "Madame, you will hold your tongue and not make such a request again! But, however, you will meet me within this very room tomorrow night. If you do not know French but are going to be working with people who speak it, you will need lessons. You will meet me here at exactly seven o'clock sharp. Is that understood?"

"I-," my mouth opened several times like a fish out of water as I floundered silently for an answer. What the heck was this? Who did this guy think he was! "You're bringing the pen and paper! I'm going to have to make flash cards. I'm a slow learner when it's not music or art."

"Seven. O'clock."

That seemed to be the last thing said before a head poked into the room. A woman in her early thirties put a hand over her heart, sighing in relief. She began to mother hen at me before pushing me out of the room. I tried to protest but the woman was much stronger than myself.

Well...

I wasn't alone anymore, right?

Plus I'd worry about everything after I learned French. Then maybe I wouldn't be snickered at anymore by the other people I worked with! And I'd be able to speak to Alfred better...

Yes, that's what I was going to do. Learn French from a person who hid from sight. A ghost. Even if it did make me a little nervous...


	3. These Lessons Matter

The lessons soon progressed to the point where if my Teacher would speak, I could understand most, if not all that he said. Then again, he was very adamant in speaking in French and _only _in French while he explained the drawings on the flashcards he would leave me in the deserted room we began to have lessons in.

When I went to go find the usual cards, I found new ones. This meant that we were going to have a review, then dive straight into these. I faintly wondered when he would begin teaching me how to structure them into sentences. Then again, I was learing just by listening to him. He would explain that there were feminine and masculine variations. For example, if the word had anything from '-d', '-et', or '-oir', it was masculine. If it had '-ace', '-ance', or '-esse', it was feminine. And those are just a few of them that I'd learn since beginning my lessons almost a month ago.

As I wracked my brain for what I'd learned the week before, I began to hum as I went over the words, pointing at the floor as I went over them out loud. I'd only remember about ten out of the twenty he wanted me to have in my memory. Darn it, he'd be angry with me but I trying. I told him I was trying. When I didn't have to meet him, I'd be in this very room practicing or if I was with Alfred I was practicing.

After I'd gone over what I'd most likely need to say to Teacher, I looked out of the tiny window on the far right and sighed. He'd be here just before the sun would set but today he was late. It was completely pitch black aside from the candles that burned outside on the streets.

It was an hour later (thanks to clock in the next room over ringing) that I found myself tucking the new cards away. I have no idea what had happened but Teacher never showed up. I felt myself wanting to cry in frustration. I had nothing else in this time besides painting the backdrops and my lessons. Now it seemed like I have nothing. Yet I knew I was just being over-dramatic because my daily schedule had been messed with.

Heading down to the kitchens, I found myself sulking as I ate a luke warm bowl of the last bit of soup and bread. Tomorrow would be Monday, I mused as I dunked my usual stale piece of bread into the soup. We'd be going out to the market in the morning. I think I would buy a few non-perishable items and tuck it under Alfred and mines bed so that we could have something eat other than the watery soups we had.

Sighing, I took my bowl to the wash basin to clean it up. It was then that I heard something so beautiful that I almost dropped the soapy bowl and spoon. Eyes wide, I cocked my head to the side in an attempt to hear what I was hearing. It was so faint but so clear... Setting the bowl down, I wipes my hands dry before heading towards the sound.

Which now as I became closer, I found it coming from the little chapel in the bowels of the Opera house. As I padded my way down I stopped short so that I could listen. The voice was clear, it was feminine, and it was so, so beautiful, but there seemed to be one flaw. There was no emotion. It was all mechanical. I couldn't process why someone would hold back so much that they could like _that _but sound so... so _eh_.

Sitting down onto the stairs, I listened until something made me gasp.

At some point a male voice entered the singing, urging her to let go. To feel the music, to feel the song she was singing.

And I felt like crying.

It was Teacher.

It was my teacher and I knew it was him because his voice sounded like the sun rising and the moon dancing and- and I numbly lifted myself up so that I could stagger my way back to somewhere that wasn't that damn chapel.

I found myself walking into the auditorium. It was dark save a few candles lighting the walls. No one was there either. Walking over to the stage, I hoisted myself up so I could sit at the edge like I usually did on my breaks. I felt bitter for being ditched for something and someone who was obviously more interesting. I also felt... sad. And bitter.

But mostly I felt jealousy bubble inside of me as I stared up at the chandelier.

Why was I jealous though? I couldn't understand it. There was no reason for my jealousy but I thought... He was still my frie- _teacher_, right? Teacher wasn't just going to forget about me because of this new girl, right?

Right?

Paranoia thick, making my chest grow tight at the prospect of Teacher leaving me for someone else - someone who was beautiful - I began to sing another song from my own time even though I knew it was a terrible idea.

As I began, I tried to envision the tune in my head as I sung and by the time I'd gotten to the end,

"Oooo- oooo- oooo,  
A little bit of rainfall to wash you clean  
And a little bit of bluesky to make life green  
Every little mayflower envys you  
There's a little bit of sunshine, in all you do..."

I felt a little better. I felt grateful that I could remember a few of the songs from home that I knew made me feel better. When I finished the last 'oooo' bit, I stood back up to make my way into the back behind the curtains. I wanted to get one more look at my almost-finished backdrop for the next show. Plus, I figured I could admire my handiwork to take my mind off of my useless emotions.

"You were not there," suddenly came the voice, irritation evident. I could pinpoint it to the prop on the other side of the room. "I told you to wait for me!"

I scoffed as I walked closer to my backdrop, smoothing a hand over a part I knew to be dry in the dim lighting of the candles in the back, "And? You didn't even show up! I waited an hour, Teacher. An. **Hour**. So don't you even pull that on me!"

There was silence for a moment. "I-," and then a scoff as if he'd figured something out. "I apologize. I had... other things to tend to."

"I'm _sure_," I bit back the bitterness that threatened to bleed into my voice.

"Yes, we will _continue _our lessons tomorrow but they will be later," came the reply. "Eight o'clock."

"Alright, I can do that but if you ditch me again I'll make sure to make your life difficult!" I point to where the voice seemed to be coming from this time only to almost fall on my ass in shock.

There, on the catwalk, seemed to float a bone white portion of a mask in the dark.

xxxx

A/N: The song used in this chapter is by Perrin Lamb.


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